


Bird in the Hand

by animeshen



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Canonical Character Death, Drunk flirting, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Funerals, Hurt/Comfort, Minor canon divergence, More tags to be added, Mourning, Rarepair, Verdant Wind route, background Felannie, i just wanna see if i can make this ship work, meet the parents, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25719808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animeshen/pseuds/animeshen
Summary: Lorenz and Ingrid made terrible first impressions on each other back at the Academy. And terrible second impressions five years later.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 14
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Never ship something as a joke. It never stays a joke.

When Lorenz offered to train with her, Ingrid took him up. She'd never fought the Golden Deer- or  _ any _ Golden Deer- but he was a lancer like her, and she appreciated a fresh challenge. 

It took nearly no time at all for her to completely destroy him. Ingrid was almost embarrassed for Lorenz at the restrained humiliation he hid in his eyes behind a benign smile. She hoped he would ask for another bout, hoped he was actually interested in improving- but instead, Lorenz picked himself up, dusted himself off, and with an outstretched hand and a disarming smile, said "Excellent form! I am duly impressed. Please, join me for a cup of tea."

Ingrid turned him down flat.

He attempted with little success to suppress his indignation, thanked her for the spar, and left the training grounds. Ingrid assumed that was the last she would hear of that.

It was not.

Lorenz became a presence in Ingrid’s life after this. He would attempt to sit beside her in the dining hall. Ingrid would leave. He would feign need for help with homework. Ingrid would ignore him.

She would only acknowledge him on the training grounds. When Lorenz realized this, he met her there more often- only when she was there. He would ask her to spar with him, and every time he would lose- though, admittedly, every time he also improved slightly. She would at least grant him that. Every time afterward, he would ask her to tea. It became so frequent that Ingrid actually found herself complaining to the professor about his behavior, to which the professor agreed to speak to Lorenz about it. From what Ingrid had heard, he was like this with many female students- pressuring them all into tea, only to interview them as a potential spouse, and find them lacking. Ingrid was not in the least bit interested in that. She had enough marriage proposals coming to her mail from her father… she didn’t need any here at school.

But Lorenz, as it turns out, was rather persistent. And despite the warning he got from the professor, he continued to ask Ingrid to tea. Finally, having had enough of it, Ingrid agreed- if only to put this to rest once and for all.

The Alliance nobleman was more than delighted at her acquiescence. Ingrid immediately wished she could rescind.

But she showed up, as promised. She did nothing for the occasion- no makeup or special dress, just her normal training attire and long, half-kempt braid. If Lorenz noticed, he didn’t say anything, instead pouring her a cup of tea.

She had to admit, it was delicious.

“Thank you for finally meeting me,” Lorenz greeted with a dignified air. Ingrid hummed in response, saying nothing as she sipped her tea.

“I’m sure you must know the reason I asked you to meet me,” He began seriously. And she did. She had heard plenty from her classmates.

“I do,” She began with a cold, serious expression. “You are looking for a wife.”

“Indeed I am!” He agreed with a noble smile, as though this were the most natural conversation in the world. “A partner who would compliment the prestige of the glorious Gloucester name. And I do not believe I need to explain to you that I have been considering you as that very spouse, Ingrid Galatea!”

“What an honor,” She replied flatly, taking a scone to compliment her tea.

“Truly, it is!” he replied, either ignoring or not registering her sarcasm. “Permit me to explain! Galatea lands lie just west of Alliance territory, across Foldlan’s Throat, and bear the crest of Daphnel, an Alliance hero, and an incredibly  _ rare _ crest thought extinct until you resurfaced with it, the only one for generations! House  Glouceste r is powerful and respectable,  but our crest is not so rare. With plenty of cousins ensuring  _ my _ family crest survives, I would concede to allow my future children the opportunity to bear  _ your _ crest, for the remarkable prestige it would bring to our family! Your house is dying, your prospects small and your villages starving. But you are a noble all the same! Should you marry into my family, the  Glouceste r estate could provide the funding needed to keep Galatea lands thriving, and in exchange, we would receive the benefit of your crest for future generations! It is, honestly, a win-win situation!”

Lorenz seemed positively elated, as though this was the most perfect marriage proposal in the world. Ingrid felt her stomach twist. She slammed her teacup down authoritatively.

“I refuse.”

Lorenz seemed perplexed, as though he never imagined this outcome. “You… refuse? My dear lady, might ask on what basis? Surely you see the benefits of combining our houses…”

“I’m not your  _ lady _ . I get marriage proposals sent to me by my father from suitors who know little more than my  _ name _ and they are still more respectful to me than _ you _ are.” Ingrid’s tone was frosty and Lorenz flinched, frowning deeply but attempting to maintain a courtly air.

“That seems a tad harsh. I do not understand what is so unappealing about my offer, but if I have done something to offend you, then I deeply apologize.”

Ingrid narrowed her steely green eyes, her mouth a grim line. “Lorenz, tell me. What do you want from a future wife?”

He paused suspiciously for a moment, before naming off ideal qualities. “Well… she should be elegant, poised, witty, charming, demure…”

“And which of those qualities describes ME?”

His lip quirked in a tic as Lorenz faltered. “...Poised, I suppose…”

“And there you have it,” she began coldly. “You aren’t looking for a companion, you’re looking for an accessory, and I’m not interested in molding myself to fit YOUR ideals.”

His frown deepened at her assessment and Lorenz straightened his back, looking down his nose at her. “You seem to be taking my offer as some slight upon your honor, rather than a collaborative compromise to benefit both our families. You were welcome to just say  _ no. _ ”

“The same ‘no’ you’ve received a dozen other times from me when you asked me to tea, only to ask me again the next day? To the point I had to register a formal complaint?"

“-So  _ you _ were the one who slandered my name to the Professor!-”

Ingrid grit her teeth. “I’m going to make this as clear as I can, not just for me, but for everyone else you think of pursuing AFTER me. You are pompous, self interested and insufferable, Lorenz. You’ve been chatting up girls not out of any actual interest in them as  _ people _ but just to vet them to fill some bride-shaped hole in your oh-so-important legacy, and I am not about to be trapped in a marriage like that. I already have ONE Sylvain Gautier in my life, I’m not interested in cleaning up the messes of  _ two. _ ”

“Now- that- See here! That is  _ outrageous! _ ” Lorenz sputtered aggreviously, finally enraged. “I am nowhere NEAR the level of that... classless boor! The very notion! My bride would be treated with the  _ utmost _ respect and courtesy! Which, apparently, is more than could be said for  _ your  _ future husband.” His expression was almost a sneer as he spat the last words. Ingrid should have punched him in the teeth, but restrained herself with contained fury and grace.

"Thank you for the tea," she said curtly as she stood, picturing her fist in his face. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon," Lorenz replied, turning away from Ingrid with an obvious scowl.

Ingrid was certain Lorenz would end up in an unhappy marriage, just as she was certain she'd never speak to him again. And she might not have.

But then a war happened.

***

It took five years, but Ingrid did speak to him again. On the Millenium festival, the former students of the Golden Deer house had reunited at Garreg-Mach, and from the confirmed rumours of local villagers and merchants, their fallen teacher Byleth had miraculously returned from the dead to lead them. A letter from Annette to Mercedes proved that Felix and Annette had met them there as well. When Fhirdiad fell, the remains of the kingdom of Faerghus and the Knights of Seiros made a new temporary base in Fraldarius lands. Ingrid, Annette, Mercedes and Sylvain were there, but despite the resistance taking place on his own family’s lands, Felix refused to fight for their vanished- and possibly deceased- prince and broken kingdom. After many arguments with his father and friends, he absconded into the night without even a letter, taking a bag of provisions- and Annette- with him. Ingrid was furious with him for this, and for a while all of her training dummies had Felix’s face.

The kingdom, meanwhile, though having lost their capital, did eventually succeed in finding their king. But Dimitri… wasn’t the same. Insane and haunted, he would stalk the halls and mumble to ghosts, and was bloodthirsty to a terrifying degree. Despite this, the knights rallied around him, their last shred of hope. As Claude became active again, the new leader of the Alliance, the kingdom rebels decided to draft a peace treaty, hoping their combined forces, small that they be, would prove enough to vanquish the Empire.

Ingrid was among the volunteers to take the treaty to Claude, along with some of the knights of Seiros. A guilty part of her said that she should stay with her king- she was his knight, his protector- but truth be told, she needed a reprieve from his raving about the incessant demands of the dead- the unquenchable thirst for revenge from his father, his stepmother, and Glenn.

She knew he mourned Glenn. They all did. But he was not the one engaged to marry the eldest Fraldarius. He was not the one who was going to make his home and raise his children. Ingrid was. Indrid was going to be Glenn’s _ wife _ . So to hear his name spilling from Dimitri’s mad tongue, to hear the demands she knew her first love would NEVER make, filled her with an unbridled rage she knew she couldn’t unleash. So she took her duties elsewhere, trusting Gilbert and Lord Rodrigue to protect- and  _ contain _ \- Dimitri while she was away brokering an alliance. It was the most help she could currently offer her kingdom and her friend.

Their contingency was readily let into the gate, as Claude and the rest of his closest team recognized Ingrid and the Blaiddyd banner they flew under. Annette ran out to meet Ingrid gleefully, though she didn’t immediately see Felix. Ingrid thought she should be mad at Annette, but seeing the girl’s smiling face, she just couldn’t find it in her heart, and hugged her old friend instead.

When she was allowed into the war room with Claude’s generals, she found that Lorenz was among them. He was taller and his hair, blessedly, had grown into something far easier to look at but he still held a contemptuous scowl for her, even after all these years, and was the first to criticize or suspect all of her motives and suggestions. On the one hand, Ingrid appreciated Claude keeping someone in confidence who wouldn’t take anything at face value- but on the other hand, she once again found herself fantasizing about her knuckles in Lorenz’s teeth.

For hours, treaties were discussed, proposed, rejected, and approved. As night fell, there were still more details to hash out of the proposal, but everyone was weary and decided to turn in and continue in the morning.

Exiting the war room into the chilling evening air of her old school was both foreign and familiar at once to Ingrid. It was a strange feeling, to feel both at home but also a stranger.

Lorenz exited behind her, pausing briefly to look down his nose at her. “I’m glad to see you’ve survived this far,” he said with no warmth.

Ingid’s reply was equally cold. “Likewise.”

He brushed past her towards the dorms. “Congratulations on joining the  _ winning _ side.”

Ingrid bristled. Even after all these years, he was still insufferable.

The treaty details were ironed out the next day, and two days later, after some rest, a 

contingency made to head back to Fraldarius to deliver the news. Whether the King would accept this alliance was still unanswered, as many of the articles and clauses outlined Claude as the final say on all plans and discussions concerning the war effort, and Dimitri was not likely to concede to that.

Ingrid did not return with them. She knew she should have. She knew Sylvain was waiting for her, knew Dimitri and the resistance needed her.

But as long as the Kingdom and Alliance had a common goal and a common enemy… she couldn’t bring herself to return to Dimitri as he presently was. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was treason. But staying in Garreg-Mach, with Claude and Annette and the others, seemed infinitely preferable to Dimitri’s mad ramblings and Sylvain’s increasingly sour passive-aggressive mood. Given an ultimatum she would of course return to her home country…. But for the present, she could do just as much valuable work with Claude’s company. Claude accepted her easily into the fold, as well as Byleth and Hilda. Even Felix almost smiled to have her. Lorenz merely waved a hand.

It took a while for Ingrid to ingratiate herself into Claude's inner circle, but eventually sheer persistence wore him down, as it was easier to invite her in than to dodge her millions of questions after every meeting. As the representative of Faerghus, she wanted to stay informed, and he eventually trusted her enough to keep her in his confidence.

As time passed, Ingrid familiarized herself with the differences between the two houses. For one, the Blue Lions all tended to stick together more; Felix, Annette, and herself were most at ease around each other. They weren’t (for the most part) unfriendly towards everyone else, but as common survivors of the same tragedy- the fall of their Kingdom, and the state of their king- they seemed more comfortable in each others’ company. The Blue Lions seemed to have an oppressive air about them that even from the inside, Ingrid was able to recognize. A hopelessness they were all fighting as hard as they could.

But the Golden Deer, despite suffering similarly at the hands of the empire, despite half their territories claimed and their soldiers in Imperial colours, were strangely more vibrant and lively, even in the face of war. It was an unsettling contrast, and Ingrid hoped that with more victories, her old classmates would begin to show that breath of life as well. She would have to count on Annette for that- the girl was a relentless ray of sunshine and as she slowly warmed to the others, she would convince Felix to, as well. If only Mercedes was here- that seemed to be the last cloud hanging over Annette’s head.

As Ingrid demanded more responsibilities and information from Claude, she ended up spending more time with the Golden Deer, getting to know them all better. Raphael was slovenly sometimes, but kind hearted and took critique well. Ignatz was gentle and talented. Leonnie made an excellent sparring partner, and Marianne could talk with her about proper horse care all afternoon. Lysithea…

Lysithea had apparently elected to join the Black Eagles. They had yet to engage her, and her name was one of few subjects that brought a dark cloud over the otherwise lively group.

Ingrid’s biggest problems were with the Alliance leaders themselves. Claude’s relaxed attitude and penchant for keeping half his plans to himself made for, in Ingrid’s opinion, poor leadership skills. His reply to this was to tell her to  _ ‘smile more’ _ , which any woman would agree, is the most aggravating thing a man can say. Hilda was lazy and constantly tricking people into doing her work for her. And then there was Lorenz.

Ingrid would grant him this; he had matured since their ill-fated conversation five years ago. His contributions to round table discussions were practical and he had a good head for tactics and warfare. This issue was still, as it always was, his  _ personality _ . Though she could appreciate that he would argue when he thought Claude was wrong, he often pressed it too far, undermining his leader and making treasonous remarks about who the  _ real _ Alliance leader should be. He was still pompous, arrogant, and full of himself.

Ingrid and Lorenz found themselves constantly butting heads. Over strategy, or defenses, or some biting remark he made that she thought was uncalled for, or some helpful suggestion she made that he said was ‘nagging’. The worst came just before their next mission- which was the receiving additional alliance troops in Ailell. Their argument had become so heated that Byleth had to step in to mediate before it came to blows.

"She’s untested and untrustworthy," Lorenz explained to Claude and Byleth with a contemptuous scowl. "She would be a liability."

“Excuse you!” Ingrid fired back, enraged. “What do you think I have been _ doing _ these past five years EXCEPT fighting the Empire!”

“Your little  _ border skirmishes _ are HARDLY major tactical warfare. We do not know your worth in a TRUE battle and that makes you unpredictable and DANGEROUS.”

Ingrid turned on him in a flash, stepping threateningly closer, fuming up at him. “You WOULD know my worth if you had taken me along on any of your little  _ excursions _ this month, like I requested! You call me ‘untested’ but won’t let me PROVE myself!”

“WHICH is where we come BACK to the word  _ untrustworthy _ . I am not yet willing to put the lives of this army at risk for all the things I do NOT know about YOU!” Lorenz met her toe to toe, snarling down at her in an undignified fashion she’d never seen on him before. She squared up, the heat of the anger between them igniting the air in the room like a powderkeg.

“The things YOU don’t know could fill a BARN, and yet they somehow still trust you to make decisions!” She snapped back, and when Lorenz bared his teeth in response to the insult, she thought he might actually punch her, and was ready for it.

“OKAY,” Claude finally stepped between them, forcing them apart from each other. Ingrid and Lorenz both huffed in annoyance, but backed away. She unclenched her fists, crossing her arms over her chest and Lorenz flipped his hair, turning his face away from her with a superior air. Claude sighed. “You guys are gonna have to work through- whatever THIS is- on your OWN time. Meanwhile, Teach’ and I are gonna go back to trying to win a  _ war, _ okay?”

Byleth grimaced, flashing them both an icy look that succeeded in shaming them. Ingrid felt embarrassed for her behavior, and the flush on Lorenz’s cheeks suggested his guilt as well. The professor held up a silencing hand, and the room quieted for the final decision.

“Ingrid is coming to Ailell.”

Lorenz clicked his tongue in annoyance and Ingrid smiled, biting back any smug response she may have wanted to throw at him.

“-As Claude’s adjutant.”

Lorenz snorted and Ingrid’s mouth opened in shock. “Professor!” She insisted, “I can be on the front lines, I’m wasted as backup!”

“That’s my decision. Now do us a favor and sort yourselves out, both of you.” Byleth moved to sweep out of the room, leaving no room for argument. Ingrid huffed. At least she would be there- she would get the chance to prove herself to Claude. The Alliance leader, for his part, slapped an amicable hand on her shoulder, smiling in his disarming way.

“I look forward to working with you!”

He followed Byleth out, and Lorenz, with one last contemptuous look back at her, was right behind him. When Ingrid was alone in the room, she kicked a chair as hard as she could.


	2. Chapter 2

She knew Ailell would be hot, they’d all been warned. But she didn’t really anticipate how  _ blistering _ it would be until they got there. It wasn’t just ‘a particularly warm summer day’. This was what Dimitri was referring to by ‘The Eternal Flames’. Shoes melted underfoot, armor seared bare skin. The air was choking, like inhaling straight fire and the sweating was insufferable. Felix took off his coat, and Annette shrugged out of her capelet and gloves. She might have stripped out of her tights if Felix hadn’t stopped her. Ingrid dared not remove anything for fear that her bared skin would become scorched. She was at least glad her hair was short at that moment- Hilda’s long pink hair was sticking to the sweat on her back, even after pulling as much up as she could into a bun. Leonnie tightened her low ponytail higher on her head. Marianne was fanning her long skirt. Everybody looked absolutely miserable, slogging through the heat- even the animals. Ingrid’s pegasus flapped its wings, the white tips already singed brown, but all that did was kick more hot air up. Claude’s wyvern was faring slightly better, being an animal that did fairly well in warm climates, but glancing at Lorenz’s all-black mare proved the poor thing was struggling to keep going. He was doing his best to placate her, patting her mane and murmuring pleasant encouragement, but Ingrid was forced to admit he looked the worst of all. In his full-plate armour, Lorenz must have been boiling alive. His face was flushed and sweating, lavender strands sticking to his forehead but he persevered with a sense of dignity that, if she didn’t hate him, she might have found strangely calming.

The relief the regiments felt to see the approaching army across the plains was short-lived once they realized these were not Fraldarius reinforcements, but in fact an Imperial surprise attack. A spy would have to be purged from their ranks later, but for now they needed to defend themselves, and despite the miserable climate, drew arms as Byleth called out formations. As instructed, Ingrid stayed behind Claude as they both took to the air, covering him, keeping a careful eye over his supply of arrows and watching to ensure his battalions didn't break rank.

It was a brutal fight. Not just for all the normal reasons a bloody war was brutal, but because the intense heat and pools of lava made an additional hazard as well as an additional weapon, as armies found themselves purposefully driven into the searing liquid fire. Ingrid maintained her position, keeping Claude free with his bow. But the worst was yet to come. As they drove the Empire armies back and advanced on the center ranks, Claude suddenly sat up in his saddle, and looked back at Ingrid with an expression of shock and worry. She blinked in confusion, until she followed his line of sight across the battlefield.

It was Ashe.

Annette screamed when she saw him. She tried to run to him, but Felix caught her and pulled her back. Ingrid didn’t blame her. She wanted to fly over there too, demand an explanation, insist that he return; Ingrid maintained her position. She watched as the professor approached their friend, Ignatz acting as backup. Ashe pointed his bow at them. He was serious. She saw from her vantage that they were talking, but couldn’t hear what they were saying. She prayed to the Goddess the Professor could talk sense into him.

Ashe fired. Byleth dodged the arrow and struck back with the Sword of the Creator. It was over in an instant. Blood burst from his chest and bubbled out of his mouth, and the former Blue Lion fell.

Annette wailed in heartbreaking sorrow, collapsing against Felix’s chest. Felix was forced to retreat to pull her out of battle, she was too distraught to continue like this. Claude yelled for Raphael and Leonnie to spread out thinner to cover the loss. Ingrid could have gone down there to help; could have swooped over enemy ranks and driven her lance into their skulls, could have unhorsed them into lava. Could have unleashed her rage and despair over Ashe’s poor decisions and untimely fate by raining destruction down on her enemies. Could have weaponized the heaviness in her heart and the unshed tears in her eyes with teeth and claws and ripped her enemies apart; could have killed Byleth for murdering Ashe, killed Edelgard for starting this war that separated them, killed Dimitri but not being the leader they NEEDED him to be, resurrected from the dead and KILLED Ashe  _ again _ for making this STUPID decision...

Ingrid maintained her position.

The march home was long.

Fraldarius reinforcements showed up in time to drive the rest of the Empire soldiers away, and the Golden Deer seemed to inflate at the victory, chatting carefully with each other while Claude and Byleth continued plotting further action. All in all, they hadn’t sustained many losses.

Except for Ashe.

Felix and Annette were riding in the medical cart because Annette couldn’t stop crying. After a while, Ingrid had to pull back, out of earshot; she couldn’t stand to hear it anymore. She had yet to express her own grief- Ingrid didn’t feel any yet. She just felt… hollow.

Someone pulled their horse up beside her. A tired sideways glance showed it Lorenz, and agitation bubbled in her gut. She didn’t want to hear anything snide about Ashe, nor did she want any meaningless platitudes and empty condolences. But he delivered neither.

“A fine mount you have,” Lorenz complimented instead, gesturing to her pegasus. “You handle him expertly.”

Ingrid blinked as the words registered in her ears, and turned back to him. His eyes were sympathetic, and he attempted a small, hopeful smile.

“...Thank you,” she replied, not knowing what else to say, and then added, “Yours, too.”

“Why thank you,” he beamed, clearly proud and happy to receive the compliment, even if it seemed a little forced. He stroked her mane. “Her name is Cherrywood, and she’s my pride and joy. I’ve been training her since she was a foal.”

This was… okay. Talking about horses… Ingrid could at least do that much. It was better than reliving Ashe’s death over and over in her mind through Annette’s mournful tears. “She has a beautiful coat,” she said. Lorenz tossed his hair elegantly, sitting straighter in his saddle with a noble smile.

“But of course! Only the best for my Cherry! She’s groomed frequently with the  _ finest _ products. I can share some with you, if you like, when we return. Will, um… will his wings be okay?”

Her stallion’s wings had scorched tips. Ingrid glanced down at the damage, stroking his coat. The white colour was dusted over from the smoke- she might actually take Lorenz up on his offer, since clearly it was time for another grooming.

“He’ll be okay,” she said. “He’s taken blasts from fireball spells before. A vulnerary and some careful cleaning will fix it.”

“What’s his name?”

“Ebony.”

Lorenz snorted a small laugh and Ingrid couldn’t help but smile a little at the sound. She had thought she was being very cute all those years ago when she named her all-white pegasus ‘Ebony’. Sylvain thought it was amazingly hilarious, and even Felix’s scoff hid an amused smile.

“Well, come find me at the stables sometime and I’ll show you my grooming kit,” he smiled politely, and then rode ahead to join Claude at the front of the caravan.

A small crowd gathered in the former Blue Lions classroom with a couple bottles of wine to celebrate the life of their fallen friend. Felix had elected to opt out, choosing to mourn by himself in his room, but Annette was there, along with Ingrid, Marianne, and Ignatz. They told tales, relived memories, and drank heavily. Annette recalled how Ashe and Caspar used to pamper this one exceptionally large cat. Ignatz mentioned the unspoken rivalry he and Ashe had shared- they tended to do their training at the archery range at the same time as each other, and frequently found themselves trying to one-up each other in marksmanship. Ignatz then produced a sketchbook from their school days (while apologizing for ‘embarrassingly old art’) featuring a spread of drawings of Ashe holding a bow. He said he was trying to understand Ashe’s form. The vibrant expressiveness of the art made Annette cry. Marianne said very little, but managed to quietly confess that she thought he was a very sweet and caring person, and she was sorry that she spooked him that one time. Ingrid spoke of his valour, and their shared vision of knighthood.

She did not mention the tiny crush she used to hold for him.

Marianne was the first to excuse herself, uncomfortable with crowds for very long, and Ignatz a little while later. For a long time, Annette and Ingrid sat alone in their old classroom, passing back and forth the wine and waxing nostalgic. But in the end, nostalgia didn’t do anyone any good.

Annette left to go find Felix sometime after sunset. Ingrid stayed longer, well into nightfall, in their old classroom, drinking alone. She thought she might never enter this room again after this night. She didn’t want to. She wondered if Ashe’s room still contained his copy of ‘Loog and the Maiden of Wind’. She didn’t want to check. She barely wanted to do anything at all. She still felt… scooped out. Like there was nothing left inside of her.

She realized she was probably drunk when she stumbled into the grass and wasn’t entirely sure when she had left the classroom, or how far she had gone. Somehow she knew she needed to get to her room, and had a vague inclination where that was. But achieving her goal was problematic because she wasn’t very sure of her footing when the landscape kept tilting. She needed to get to the dorms and up the stairs… or she could just lay here in the grass. That seemed alright, too.

Somebody woke her at some point. Her shoulder was roughly shook and she found herself lifted into unknown arms. Ingrid groaned as she was moved, vaguely aware of being relocated indoors and found herself deposited on a bed. Maybe it was hers. She didn’t know. She didn’t care. There was a cup of water in her hands and she drank it greedily. The room was spinning.

“I liked him,” she said.

“I know,” he replied.

“He didn’t deserve that,” she said.

“He truly did not,” he replied. “Here, eat some bread. It will help you feel better.”

Ingrid didn’t want bread. She wanted Ashe. She wanted Dimitri and Sylvain and Felix and  _ Glenn _ and the life she was promised, the life that was torn from her.

“If you need to throw up, here's a bowl,” he said. 

“Why are you doing this?” She asked. “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Lorenz sighed. “I just hate how you make me feel.”

“How is that?”

“Eat some bread.”

She ate the bread, and drank some more water, and if anything else was spoken she didn’t know because she passed out again until morning.

She awoke with a murderous headache in her own room. She was still dressed in yesterday's clothes, save for her boots, which she did not recall removing. Her memory of the previous night was spotty… but with a surge of regret and humiliation, she did recall that of all possible people, it was  _ Lorenz _ who brought her back to her room and made her drink water. Ingrid wondered if someone could die of embarrassment. 

She spent the entire day in her room, nursing her hangover and quietly mourning in solitude. No one came to check on her. Late in the evening, when the worst of her headache had dissipated, she took out her battered copy of ‘Loog and the Maiden of Wind’, thumbing through worn, dog-eared pages she’d memorized long ago. Only then did she finally allow herself to cry.

For the next month, the relationship between Ingrid and Lorenz was not so much volatile, but it was…. Strained. They didn’t argue nearly as much, but it did sort of feel like they were avoiding each other. Ingrid was embarrassed that he’d seen her- and taken care of her- at her absolutely most disgusting. She presumed for his part, Lorenz must have said something to her that she didn’t remember- or she said something to him- that would have been better left unsaid, because otherwise she couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t be acting smug over her shortcomings, taking her drunken backyard funeral as proof of her unreliability. Acting  _ distant  _ around her was just…. Uncomfortable.

But for her efforts in Ailell, she did earn enough respect to start being put on weekly missions, routing bandits and killing monsters, allowing herself to earn a good reputation as a competent leader, an efficient soldier and a hard worker. Enough so that she earned herself a spot in the upcoming mission- taking back the Bridge of Myrddin.

The pride of the Gloucester family. In Gloucester territory. With a plan that hinged on Lorenz Hellman Gloucester.

He said nothing when she was added to the unit ranks- he didn't even make a face. This was officially too much for Ingrid. After the war council, she followed him.

"Lorenz."

He ignored her and kept walking. Ingrid furrowed her brows, increasing her pace to follow at his heels.

"Lorenz, enough. We need to talk."

Finally, he stopped at the end of a corridor, sighed, and turned back to her with elegant poise.

"Yes? How may I help you?"

Ingrid crossed her arms. “Okay, what’s going on? I’m not sad we aren’t arguing anymore, but I don’t appreciate being ignored, either. Did something happen after Ailell?”

Lorenz sighed heavily, darting his eyes away from hers with a roll of his head. “No, nothing happened. I saw you passed out in the grass, and being the trueborn noble gentleman that I am, could not very well just  _ leave _ you there. I took you to your room, gave you some water, and left. Honestly, Ingrid, I understand partaking in the luxury of a glass or two after a hard-won battle, but as a noble lady, you should be more careful about your image.”

“-Fine, I deserved that,” Ingrid grumbled. “So what is it, then? I’m coming along on a mission to  _ your _ territory. Last month you would have set me on FIRE before you let that happen.”

Lorenz clicked his tongue. “That seems a tad harsh. But very well- I suppose I owe you at least this much. You are correct, last month I held less-than favorable opinions about your skill and reliability. But you proved me wrong in Ailell, and I was forced to reconsider.”

Ingrid blinked. She was backup in Ailell- she barely did anything at all.

“How did you come to that opinion?”

Lorenz looked like he would rather be anywhere in the world but here, shifting his weight and tossing his hair, eyes darting around as if looking for an exit. Finally, he seemed to give up, and sighed heavily and dramatically.

“...When you saw Ashe across the way… you maintained your position. And… when you saw him ...fall… you maintained your position. He had been a dear friend, but you held your duty at highest priority with respectable maturity, even when your other former classmates could not. I…” Lorenz lowered his eyes. “...I am not so sure… that if it were me, I would have been able to claim the same.”

Ingrid softened at his admission, uncrossing her arms. She didn’t know how to feel about what he said. On the one hand, it proved her loyalty and reliability. On the other hand, it made her look… cold. She had no idea what to say.

"...I see," was all she managed. After a pause, Ingrid took a breath. "Thank you for your help last month. I assure you, you will have my best work for the next mission. I won't let you down."

"Hmm. Indeed," he replied. "See that you do not. This mission is crucial not only to the war, but to my entire family. It would be a disaster not only to the Leicester Alliance, but all of  _ Fodlan _ should we fail."

Ingrid thought that was a bit of a self-congratulatory exaggeration, but said nothing, bowing respectfully instead. "Understood."

Lorenz bowed in return, and she finally let him escape as the two turned away from each other and parted.


	3. Chapter 3

The Attack on the Bridge of Myrddin was a massacre. It was gruesome, difficult and bloody. Ingrid lost some of her battalion to a ballista, and beasts almost tore Raphael’s arm off. Ladislava punctured Leonnie’s lung. Annette was forced to retreat from the lines to act as a backup healer with Marianne, and when Claude came back from around a corridor where a second entrance was providing Empire reinforcements, the grim look on his face was chilling.

The victory was hard-won, and the reception afterwards was cold. With so many injured, it was difficult to celebrate, even though Judith was there to take over guardianship of the bridge for the Alliance, and ensure no passage to Empire troops. Claude provided some relief when he suggested his classmates take a month off to go to their homes and see their families while he and Byleth took care of business with Nader. Lorenz was expected to convince his father to denounce his support for the Empire and claim Gloucester for the Alliance once again. Ingrid almost felt bad for him- everyone else was going home for rest, and he had to engage in difficult negotiation. But, she supposed, if he was so keen on flaunting his nobility, then he had to take the bad with the good.

Ingrid planned on returning to the monastery with some others. But for the night, the troops set up tents at the edge of the bridge to rest and recuperate from the battle. Injuries needed healing, and everyone was exhausted. Some more optimistic soldiers busted out some ale and wine and tried to engage in some post-battle ‘at least we’re still alive’ celebration, which did ease the overall mood somewhat. Ingrid did not join them, though she noted that Raphael, with his arm in a sling, had dragged Ignatz to a campfire to partake in the festivities. Ingrid took a strange amount of comfort in that. He had an uncrushable spirit, and she admired that about him.

Leonnie was still in the medical tent. Annette had retired from healing duty, being still weak in Faith magic, but Marianne was pulling extra shifts. It was as admirable as it was irresponsible, and Ingrid didn’t know if it was worth a scolding. She decided to hope Leonnie was getting the treatment she needed to recover quickly- that girl wouldn’t stand for being put out of commission for long.

Claude and Byleth were in a strategy meeting with Judith, but for once, Ingrid didn’t want to be in there. She didn’t want to think about the war. After all the bloodshed she had seen today, the fear and the death and the carnage, Ingrid only wanted some peace and quiet. The camp was too noisy with raucous soldiers to sleep, so she wandered the other direction, stepping onto the stone path of the bridge.

All day, they had spent blood, sweat and tears- very literally- taking this bridge back. Many people died on both sides; the weight of human life was sitting heavily in Ingrid’s heart. And here it was, under her boots- just a bridge. Cold stone and mortar. 

The bodies had been cleared- the Alliance pulled their own back to be identified and sent home to their families, where possible. The Empire soldiers… the less said, the better. But even without the slain corpses, the smell lingered, and there were dark, sticky patches of blood underfoot. Uncleared rubble and broken arrows. It was clear what had transpired here, and why no one else was on the bridge but ghosts, no sounds but the rushing water far beneath and her own footsteps.

...And a SONG. Ingrid tensed, listening. A melody was coming from the darkness, too quiet to discern. Carefully, she stepped on light feet towards the broken ballista, following the sound. There in the moonlight, sitting on a broken fence with a tray of tea, was Lorenz Hellmen Gloucester, swaying lightly as he hummed to himself. He noticed her before she could say anything, and gave her a lopsided smile, holding a bottle of whiskey high in greeting.

“Ingrid! Welcome to the funeral!”

He chuckled darkly as she approached, looking around with concern. He was clearly a little drunk. “You brought a tea set with you to a siege?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. Lorenz waved his hand.

“Of course I did, I’m not a  _ barbarian _ . This is my TRAVEL set, much sturdier, less valuable to be sure and with no accounting for blend but in wartime, sacrifices must be made.” He poured two cups, and Ingrid recognized the smell of the southern fruit blend. “Come and have some tea, as long as you’re here.”

After only the slightest pause, Ingrid took a place on the broken wall at the other side of the tea set. Lorenz offered his whiskey, and she took a swig and handed it back. It burned in a delicious way, the aftertaste lingering on her tongue. It was a much more expensive brand than she’d ever tried. “Whose funeral are we celebrating?” She asked.

“My best friend.”

Ingrid’s stomach froze. She turned to see his face, registering the pained smile, the sorrowful eyes. He was lightly stirring a cup of tea, looking into nothing.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” she said. Lorenz hummed softly.

“A hundred times, he asked me to join the Black Eagles. Even after the war started, he would write to me and invite me to join him in the Empire, especially after my father sided with them. And I confess… I was very tempted, at times.”

He stared into the cup. Ingrid wondered if he would be crying if she wasn’t here.

“If I had,” he continued, “...Would I be dead beside him, on this bridge?”

Ingrid wished she didn’t understand him. Wished she didn’t know what it was like to see a dear friend on the other side of enemy lines. Too see them die for it.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” she said. “Wherever you would be, whoever you would be with, you would still be working for the Empire, for Edelgard. For power-hungry betrayers and murderers that are killing our friends, our families. I’m glad you stayed with the Alliance.”

She tried to sound… hopeful, or empathetic, or anything that might help, though belatedly she wondered if he had read her as calling his friend a power hungry murderer at his own memorial. But Lorenz barely seemed to hear her, still gazing off into the distance with a slowly cooling cup of tea. In the moonlight, when he was still like this, Ingrid couldn’t help but notice he had a classic beauty to him. She watched his chest heave in a heavy sigh. He was so much more tall and slender than she ever ever realized before. Lithe, even. How did he lift that lance?

Ingrid turned away, cheeks warming to realize she’d been staring when he was at his absolute lowest point. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and she was sorry for….  _ So many _ things. Lorenz didn’t turn to look at her.

“I didn’t get to see him. I didn’t even know he was there, but when Claude came back from the second entrance, he looked right at me, and his expression was so….  _ Painful, _ that I knew right away.” A dark chuckle escaped him, a mournful smile. He finally glanced briefly at her. “It is rather funny. I told you that I respected you for maintaining your position in the face of such heartbreak. I admitted I was not sure I could do the same. And you know? I could not. I abandoned my post right away to see for myself, to see if it was true. And it was. There he lay, dead on the ground- one of Claude’s arrows in his heart. A perfect shot, as always. I hadn’t seen him in five years…. And…”

Lorenz stopped with a choking sound. He carefully shook his head and wiped his eyes, sitting up with poise and restraint.

“Anyhow. Cheers.”

He took up his cup of cold tea and poured it onto the ground. In response, Ingrid picked up the untouched cup he had poured for her and dumped it out as well, understanding the sentiment behind the action. This earned her a small, thankful smile. He then took another swig from the whisky bottle. Ingrid passed when he offered it to her. “Don’t you have to talk to your father tomorrow? You shouldn’t be hungover for that.”

He laughed pitifully. “Indeed. Such an impression I would make. ‘Hello, father, I’ve come to change your mind about the war effort but do keep your voice down, I have a terrible headache’.”

Ingrid snorted a laugh. She wanted to scold him for being irresponsible, but it was difficult when she knew that her own mourning last month had been just as drunk, possibly worse.

“Just switch to water now,” she offered instead. “Don’t make me say ‘I told you so’ when you set off tomorrow.”

“Oh, you would hate that, wouldn’t you?” Lorenz teased with a lopsided smirk, pouring them both a new cup of tea. “And where shall you be headed? Off to Gatea lands to see your family?”

Going home hadn’t even occurred to Ingrid. She technically could… everyone was taking a break, and her lands weren’t far from here. But she could just picture it- a month of her father introducing her to various suitors, telling her he’s worried about their legacy, how she shouldn’t be on the front lines, how she needs to get married. She loved her father but she wasn’t at all interested in that.

“No, I think i’ll be returning to Garreg-Mach. There's still plenty of work to do there.”

Lorenz was looking at her like he was thinking really hard about something, focusing as best as his whiskey-addled mind would allow.

“Come with me.”

Ingrid stared at him, incredulous. “-To Gloucester?”

“Yes, to Gloucester. To my estate, to help me talk my father into joining the alliance.”

“How-” Ingrid had a million question, starting with  _ why me? _ “How do you expect that to work? They’ve never met me, I’m no one of importance. Shouldn’t you ask one of your classmates?”

“He  _ knows _ all of my classmates, knows all of their interests. It would work PRECISELY because he doesn’t know you!” Lorenz was lighting up, becoming more animated as he thought this through. “You’ll be there representing Faerghus, the interests of the Kingdom. I’m sure he’d be VERY interested in that. Besides, your very candid and forthright manner of speaking is  _ sure _ to impress him! You would be the perfect companion!”

Ingrid wished she hadn’t blushed a little at being called a ‘perfect companion’, but frowned all the same.

“There’s no way. I don’t have a month’s provisions, and I’m severely underprepared. I can’t even imagine they would accept me into their home. This is just your drink talking.”

“It’s my drinking making me say the words I truly feel!” Lorenz countered. “The journey isn’t even a whole day, we can provide whatever you need when you get there- my mother was a lancer like ourselves, I’m sure she’ll have something suitable for you to wear! I can prepare you on the way!”

He was really serious. Ingrid was having a hard time counter-arguing with anything besides ‘I don’t want to’- which wasn’t even fair, because a large part of her DID want to, was insanely curious, and besides, wanted to help in any way she could. If she was going to secede from the Kingdom into the Alliance- she may as well help with Alliance interests.

“In that case, ask me again tomorrow,” she said. “When you’re sober. I’ll only consider your request then.”

Lorenz waved his hand, frowning. “Very well, very well.” He seemed let down. Ingrid sighed, and rolled her eyes, coming up with one last idea.

“We should head to bed. But, before we do…. Is there anything you wanna say? A eulogy?”

Lorenz considered this, then raised his teacup into the air with a lofty smile.

“To the epitome of nobility, the highest of class, the most regal of gentlemen. To the brightest, most cheerful person I have ever known. To my best friend.”

Ingrid raised her teacup into the air. “To Ferdinand Von Aegir.”

“To Ferdinand Von Aegir!”

They both poured out their cups onto the stone bridge below them. Following this, Ingrid leapt down from the wall, and supervised Lorenz’s slightly less than graceful descent. It was astonishing to her that he could be so eloquent in speech while drunk while so unsteady of foot. Just to be safe, she put a hand on his back, guiding him back to camp. He truly was tall, and his thin frame belied the muscles she felt under her palm.

“Oh,” she stopped, “do you want your tea set?”

“No,” Lorenz replied a little coldly, not looking back. “It’s his, now. Let his ghost have something fine on this wretched bridge.”

***

Ingrid was darkly satisfied the next morning to see Lorenz looking miserable. It wasn’t very nice, but she HAD warned him, and made sure he was  _ very _ aware of it when she joined him for a light breakfast at a makeshift mess camp set up around dying campfires, smirking cruelly around a tin cup of coffee.

“Are you ready for that ‘I told you so’?”

Lorenz frowned deeply. “I suppose I deserve that. But it isn’t too severe, thanks to  _ someone _ insisting I switch to water halfway through the bottle.” He'd left his tea set on the bridge, and as such was still drinking water as he recovered.

“Mm-hmm,” Ingrid hummed victoriously with a wry smirk. “Good luck today.” She moved to leave him and join Felix and Annette, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

“...Thank you for joining me last night.” Lorenz looked abashed, his eyes lowered. “I was not at my most dignified. But moreover… it’s… harder to mourn alone. Especially when the funeral is for an enemy general… who was killed by your own leader.”

He had lowered his voice somewhat, as though he was ashamed to be admitting such a thing. Ingrid never thought they were close enough for him to be revealing dark secrets to her… but he must have recognized the unfortunate bond they now share… drinking heavily through the loss of a friend-turned-enemy. Ingrid sighed, darting her eyes to ensure there was no one nearby to hear them. She lowered her voice to ask him something.

“Do you resent him? ...Claude?”

Lorenz paused before he replied, lowering his voice further to match. “Do you resent Byleth?”

“...A little,” she admitted, and she hated herself for it. Their professor TRIED to talk to Ashe but he couldn’t be swayed, and as such, became another enemy. Still, seeing the Sword of the Creator tear into her schoolgirl crush had torn a piece of Ingrid’s heart along with Ashe’s. Lorenz nodded solemnly. 

“Yes,” he agreed, a dark tinge to his voice. “Just… a little.”

Ingrid hated how his admittance made her feel better. Feel less alone. How it made her feel like they were doubting the judgement of their leaders even when they  _ knew _ there was no other course of action. The conversation stilled.

"Well." She didn't know where to go from here. "I'll see you next month. Best of luck, Lorenz."

He stopped her again. "Come with me."

So he remembered. She regarded him sincerely, taking in his earnest expression. She had told him to ask again when he was sober, and he was. Ingrid crossed her arms gravely.

“You’re serious.”

“I am. I do believe you would be a great asset to negotiations. Not to doubt my own abilities, but your assistance could make this endeavor tremendously more successful."

Ingrid gave him a stern look, putting her fists on her hips. "We haven't always got along. I don't intend to change, even in front of foreign nobles. Can you really put up with me for up to a month?"

Lorenz seemed to chuckle, smiling with his gentile air. "I would not have asked you otherwise."

"If we succeed swiftly in negotiations, I'll leave early to return to Garreg-Mach. Is that agreeable?"

"Perfectly. I wouldn't dream to ask for more."

Ingrid paused once more, finding few other arguments. "...will your mother really have suitable clothing for me? I didn't bring much more than I'm wearing."

"Absolutely" he promised, holding a solemn hand up. "As I said last night- she preferred lance and horse, as we do. She may wear the expected and more impressive regalia of a countess in court, but at home she prefers breeches and tunics, the same as you. The fit should be just fine."

"Well. I suppose if I want to help the war effort… there are worse ways to do it," she resigned, feeling a little embarrassed at herself. If she had honestly and truly wanted no part, she didn't even need an excuse- a 'no' would be enough. Yet somehow she allowed Lorenz to talk her into visiting his family in Gloucester territory for what could possibly turn out to be an entire month- a month of just herself and  _ Lorenz- _ under the feeble excuse if 'it may help the war'.

It sounded ridiculous in her head. And yet she was now committed all the same. "Let me pack up my things, then," Ingrid sighed. Lorenz smiled in a way that seemed far too pleased for her liking.

"Splendid! We shall depart at your convenience!"

"Hmm. Just do something about that hangover, first," she jabbed lightly with a teasing smirk as she turned away. 

"Ah… quite," she heard him remark behind her retreating back.

Ingrid was ready within an hour, but despite the promise of ‘ _ at your convenience’ _ , Lorenz took significantly longer to prepare, making her begin to reconsider her agreement. He found her grooming Ebony some forty minutes later, packed and seemingly recovered from his previous maladies, positively  _ sparkling _ . Ingrid kind of wanted to punch him.

Instead, the two of them saddled their horses and set off. Ignatz and Leonnie had already left, so the ride wouldn’t have the company Ingrid had been hoping for, but despite her silence, Lorenz filled the air with nonsensical chatter. He told her what sorts of things to expect, all the ways she would be  _ very _ impressed, what sort of man his father was like and all the best ways to sway him, bragging about their family rose garden, and any number of other things- some useful, some tedious, and some just noise. Ingrid was of two minds on this- Lorenz was nervous and chattering away to dull the unsettling silence, and/or he was excited to show off his native home to someone who had never been there before.

Ingrid didn’t mind as much as she thought she would. In a strange way, it was comfortable to have someone keeping her company, perfectly accepting of the very little she contributed in response.

The only moment of difficulty occurred very early in the journey, as they were crossing the bridge. Lorenz silenced as they came upon the broken ballista that had last night hosted their impromptu funeral; and the tea set that sat there still. Ingrid looked to him with a sympathetic heart as his eyes gazed solemnly down at it, tense in a way she didn’t like seeing on him. Snapping the reigns, she urged Ebony forward, and Lorenz quickly followed suit, passing the memorial and crossing the bridge quickly.

When they had first arrived at the bridge before the battle, Lorenz had been quite proud of it and its importance to house Gloucester. She wondered if he still felt the same about it now.

The ride was not very long, and soon the two of them were coming upon his estate. Ingrid listened as Lorenz’ rambling became a little strained, and the worry that creased his brow despite his gallant smile. He was nervous after all. She didn’t suppose she blamed him- Ingrid knew for a fact how difficult it could be to change one’s father’s mind.

“Hey,” she finally said as they neared, calling his attention. She looked him full in the face with an expression of calm authority. “It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna do fine. And I’ll be there to help. Okay?”

Lorenz took a very deep breath and sighed it out heavily. He nodded at her, and kept strangely quiet for the last few moments of the journey, watching his family home grow larger and larger on the horizon until they had arrived right at the door, and servants were already scrambling over to see to their mounts. Lorenz turned to her with a mixture of pride and anticipation.

“Welcome to Gloucester.”


	4. Chapter 4

Ingrid learned that Lorenz had sent a messenger ahead to announce his arrival to Gloucester estate yesterday after the battle, as evidenced by the preparedness of the servants to receive him. However, just as evident was the fact that they had _ not _ anticipated an additional guest- let alone a marriageable young lady. She could already see the misconceptions in their faces, and mentally began rewording her courteous greetings and well-thought arguments to include  _ 'No, we are not courting, I am merely a fellow officer with Lorenz, hailed from Faerghus to talk of war' _ . And this was all before she even met his parents.

Lorenz fell into place immediately, looking phenomenally at-ease and possibly even more noble than she had even seen him before, effortlessly directing hurried-looking staff to see to the unexpected addition. Ingrid leapt down from Ebony and barely had both feet on the ground before he and Cherrywood were led away to the stables as her host delivered instructions for the preparation of a guest bedroom and received information about the whereabouts and overall well-being of his parents. He sent someone ahead to announce his arrival to the Count and Countess, along with a noble guest and only  _ finally _ did he turn to Ingrid.

She had been trying very hard not to look astounded- not at the luxury, she had been around plenty of high class nobles before, but at his absolute  _ command _ of it.

“Would you like to freshen up from the journey before they receive us?” He asked, and she considered that he probably wanted her to say ‘yes’- if not for her sake, then for his- but Ingrid disappointed him.

“I’d rather not delay. Let’s make our introductions first.”

As expected, he seemed a little put-out, but Ingrid didn’t care. Lorenz nodded and led her inside, clothed in riding gear and trail dust and smelling of yesterday’s battle.

This was a statement. Ingrid wasn’t just a noble, she was a knight. And that was the first impression she wanted to make.

The interior of the estate first overwhelmed her with the scent of roses. He had mentioned the rose garden, and it must have been massive for the smell to linger in every corner. Her second impression had been with the extravagance. Ingrid didn’t think she had seen so many expensive, magnificent things even in the King’s palace. Silk curtains, gold frames around beautiful paintings, marble floors and exotic, imported furniture, an incredible grand piano... She felt extremely out of place in her riding gear, but held her head high, nonetheless.

Lorenz led her to the drawing room, standing as tall and regal as she had ever seen him, where the Count and Countess Gloucester awaited them, and stood formally at their arrival in greeting. Lorenz bowed respectfully to his family, and Ingrid; having no skirt to curtsey; bowed as well.

“It is good to see you again, my son!” The Count greeted with a smile. “I hope this visit is to explain what happened to  _ my _ bridge?”

Lorenz didn’t flinch, though his smile was terse. Ingrid could immediately see both of his parents in Lorenz. The Count had violet hair and dark, piercing almond-shaped eyes, while the Countess was tall and thin with straight, silvery blonde hair, bright lavender eyes, and a long, pinched nose.

“I have every intention,” Lorenz explained. “But first I would like you to meet my companion; introducing, Ingrid Brandl Galatea of Faerghus.”

Ingrid nodded a greeting with a stern, unsmiling face. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Thank you for having me in your home.”

“The pleasure is all ours, Dear!” The Countess smiled. She was a picture of poise and elegance, and Ingrid couldn’t help but wonder about the version of his mother that Lorenz had told her about, the one who wore breeches and trained with a lance. “Faerghus, you say? Well there isn't much of a ‘Faerghus’ left now but I’m sure the Empire can be convinced to protect your lands, should you join the family.”

Lorenz coughed awkwardly before Ingrid could even  _ begin _ to deny everything about that statement. “M-mother, I’m afraid the Lady Galatea and I are not engaged. In fact, we have come to speak of the war, the bridge, and the Alliance, on behalf of Duke Reigan.”

The Countess’ face fell in disappointment and an annoyed grumbling sound emanated from the Count himself, glaring at his son in a way that was clearly making Lorenz uncomfortable, much as he tried to hide it.

“..Well,” the Countess forced herself to smile again, “You’ve had a long journey. Why don’t you freshen up, and we can discuss these things after dinner. I’ll inform the cooks to make extra portions tonight. Lory Darling, show her to the guest quarters, will you?”

_ Lory. _ Ingrid managed to bite back a snicker, though her companion had clearly turned red, his mouth a long, thin line.

“Yes. Thank you, Mother. Father.” He bowed to each and turned quickly away. Ingrid followed as he swept out of the room a little too quickly, through the halls, up the stairs and only slowing when she had followed him to the top of the staircase and well out of range of his parents.

“Ah… I apologize for my mother,” he stammered, and all the regal elegance he’d maintained when he entered the drawing room seemed to have stayed there. “I did not even think to warn you. She becomes, ah, very interested in my female companions. The last time Hilda was here…” He shook out his head, grimacing as though he was reliving a painful memory. Ingrid could only just imagine all the ways Hilda and the Countess combined could have embarrassed him. She couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed, though- her own father was very much the same, hoping each male name she mentioned in her letters might be a suitor to preserve their crest and legacy. Ingrid actually sympathized with Lorenz.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I’m not mad. I just want to make sure we stay focused on what’s important here tonight.”

“Yes, of course,” he nodded. “I’ll show you to the guest quarters, and order the maids to find you something to wear. Feel free to rest, someone shall come for you at dinner.”

That was the second time dinner was mentioned and Ingrid wished it hadn’t caught in her ears every time someone said it. She could almost hear her stomach growling and hoped it wasn’t audible.

Similar to the main hall, the guest quarters were lavishly decorated in a way that was almost overwhelming. All Ingrid had expected was a bed, a chest of drawers, and if she was lucky, a bath as well. This room had all this and more- silken curtains, gold inlaid mirrors, down pillows, a fresh bouquet of roses on a small serving table- Ingrid almost backed out of the room. “This seems… excessive,” she couldn’t help but say. Lorenz didn’t seem to take offense; in fact, he chuckled, leading her in.

“Of course. The guest quarters must be opulent if we are to send a message. Tell me, how does this room make you feel?”

“Kind of uneasy,” she admitted, looking around at all the expensive, high class furniture.

“In what way?” He pressed, and there was a strange, knowing smirk on his lips that made her curious.

“Well I’m a little afraid I’m going to break something,” she shrugged. “And a little annoyed, since all this money could have gone to the people, to help them rebuild their farms and houses after all the raids.”

“Oh, please do not assume Gloucester does not take care of its people!” Lorenz announced, raising an elegant hand as he found another excuse to flaunt his nobility. “Our taxes are the lowest in the Alliance, as we supplement our income with the garden! When the petals fall from the roses in winter, we sell them to wineries and perfumists. We can afford to charge exuberant prices on them because they are only sold to the finest artisans for the most glamorous, high quality product! As such, we have a  _ thriving _ economy. No, this money does not come at anyone’s expense, I assure you! We are taking very good care that the war does not affect the common folk!”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. Still such a separation to him between the noble and the common; it had lessened since his school days, but there was still a line. Lorenz waited for her to continue, his eyes alight. Clearly he was hoping for a certain answer to his initial question, so she tried to think, and searched back to the feelings from when she first set foot through the door. “Then, if we must play this game… I suppose I feel out of place.”

“And there you have it!” Lorenz smiled broadly, lighting up. “Most of our guests are other nobles, dignitaries, merchants- they come for business. We want them to be comfortable, of course! But we also want them to think that  _ we don’t need them _ . That we are too good for them. We want to overwhelm them. This isn’t just gloating- this is strategy.”

Ingrid balked. She had never heard of using decorations in tactical warfare, but this was mind games at its best. She was almost impressed, until she realized that SHE had been put in this room. “That’s pretty genius,” she admitted. “But why am I staying here, then?”

His eyes darkened with mischief. “How curious,” he smiled, and she hated that. “I’m off to my own quarters now, do make yourself comfortable. Good afternoon, Ingrid.”

“Good afternoon,  _ Lory, _ ” she quipped to his retreating back, rewarded when she saw him flinch before continuing. Finally she locked herself into the gaudy room.

  
  


She was roused from a deep nap hours later, still wearing her post-bath robe. She had chosen to clean first so as not to soil the bed sheets (not that she wasn't used to sleeping in dirt), and should not have been so surprised to find the bathing room equally extravagant, with shelves of bottles of expensive lotions and cleaners and what-have-you. Ingrid had never cared about posh and polish, even when Mercedes and Annette and especially Dorothea had tried to  _ make _ her care. She didn't even know what half the bottles and tins were FOR. But, since her hosts apparently DID care, she decided to err on the side of caution and make herself presentable, reaching for the few familiar products she could recognize.

It felt like she'd scrubbed five years of dirt out of her hair by the time she was through. Ingrid didn't think she'd ever preened so much in her life. But if the Gloucester family was so dedicated to presentation, she may as well not put herself at a disadvantage for the arguments to come.

She could almost  _ feel _ Dorothea gushing over this decision, her 'lovely thick hair and beautiful skin'. Next she would have talked Ingrid into sitting still so she could slather makeup on her face.

Ingrid sighed, pushing the thoughts aside. Those days were gone.

Putting on a bathrobe, she decided instead to try the bed out, finding it ridiculously plush. She laid down, wondering how anyone could be expected to sleep on pillows this soft.

And that was where she still was when the maid woke her hours later.

"I've come to dress you for dinner," a young woman explained with a bubbly giggle in her voice as Ingrid blearily rubbed her eyes. “You can call me Eve!”

“Oh… nice to meet you, Eve,” Ingrid blinked, pulling herself off the bed. How long had she been out? “Just leave it there, I can dress myself- but if you would take my clothes?” She pointed to her road-worn battle tunic.

“Oh, I can take that, no problem! But I must help you dress, you need someone to help you do up the back.” Eve produced an exquisite gown in shades of plum and gold, smiling. “The young Lord recommended these shades for you, and I think this will really make your eyes sparkle!”

A gown. Ingrid grit her teeth. Hadn’t she specifically been promised pants? And why was Lorenz picking out her dresses?

“I’d rather not,” Ingrid bit. “Aren’t there breeches and a tunic I can wear?”

Eve’s eyes darted nervously, holding a tense smile. “Certainly, but… to dinner?”

Ah, of course.  _ Etiquette. _ It was hard to remember she actually wanted to make a good impression as a proper noble this time- unlike the times spent in the Gautier and Fraldarius homes, where they knew her well enough not to care, or the surprise invitations by her father for some suitor or another, in which she didn’t bother to try. Ingrid sighed, resigned, and pulled off her bathrobe. “Very well.”

Eve helped her button up the back of the dress and promised to return when Ingrid retired for the evening to help her back out of it. Smoothing out the dark, velvety skirt, Ingrid made a note that next time she would prefer a dress that didn’t require two people to put on.

“Have you brought any makeup?” Eve asked pleasantly as Ingrid braided her hair in her usual way. Her eyes turned sharp and cold.

“To a siege? No. I did not bring makeup to war.”

Eve looked uncomfortable again and Ingrid thought she should stop snapping at this poor girl who was only trying to do her job. “Um… w-well, I can borrow some if you like, and help you do your eyes!”

Ingrid should draw the line here. She really wanted to order the girl away, even wanted to pull off the dress and wear her own dirty tunic down to dinner out of sheer spite.

But, she had previously allowed Annette and Dorothea to do her makeup for dumber reasons than this. Ingrid closed her eyes, took a calming breath, and said “Yes, that would be fine.”

For the war. She was doing this for the war. She would impress the Count and Countess Gloucester not only with her solid arguments and reason but also her credible nobility, which they seemed to respond to. Gloucester would renounce his allegiance to the Empire and send troops and support to the Alliance. The Kingdom and the Knights of Seiros would all join them and they’d have enough force to take back Fhirdiad and then march on Enbarr and end the war and it all starts here with Ingrid in a purple dress.

She repeated this mantra in her head as Eve (“LIGHTLY,” Ingrid had commanded) applied eyeshadow and mascara. When it was all said and done, Eve led her to the dining hall.

Ingrid was apparently the last to arrive. The Glocester family stood respectfully to greet her as she joined them, and a servant held out her chair. They were all in fine clothing, apparently as intent on impressing her as she was on them, even though she offered little in lands and wealth.  _ We want to overwhelm them, _ she remembered Lorenz saying.  _ It’s strategy. _

Perhaps that was a warning.

Lorenz was looking cleaned up and radiant in his black silk shirt and cravat with high waisted violet pants, making him appear even taller and thinner. She was mildly uncomfortable to note that he was staring at her appraisingly, arriving in the gown he had chosen for her. She tried not to frown harder than she already was.

“I apologize for my lateness,” Ingrid said respectfully as she was seated.

“Nonesense!” The Countess waved her hand. “It’s worth it to see you looking so refreshed!”

The Count at the head of the table gave them all a piercing glance before finally reaching to serve his plate. This was the cue that it was alright for the rest of the family to eat as well.

The spread was  _ incredible _ . Uneasy though Ingrid may have felt around all this finery, she couldn’t help but be grateful for such a sumptuous feast. After war rations and cafeteria food for what felt like an eternity, a home cooked meal; including goose, potatoes, boiled carrots and rolls; was practically Heaven, and Ingrid may have found herself digging in a little  _ too _ fast and a tad  _ too _ heartily when she noticed she had caught the eyes of the Gloucester family, and respectfully reigned herself in. The Countess forced a small giggle.

“I do like a girl who knows how to enjoy herself,” She smiled, and Ingrid felt a hot blush on her cheeks. The Countess continued, taking small, dainty bites of her meal. “So, Galatea. As I understand, you are the only one in  _ generations _ to bear the Daphnel crest. Most of us had thought it long lost- you must be absolutely  _ drowning _ in marriage proposals.”

Ah. So this was where the night was going to begin. She chanced a look towards Lorenz, who seemed fairly adept at ignoring his parents.

“...My father has been vetting potential suitors, yes,” she replied carefully. “But with the war effort, I’m not interested in receiving them. There's too much to be done.”

To her surprise, it was Lorenz who replied to her, with a bite to his voice. “Perhaps, one could argue, that a war is the perfect time to consider marriage, for the sake of one’s legacy in face of an uncertain future.”

The atmosphere thickened significantly as Ingrid looked up from her plate to glare at him from across the table. She violently stabbed a forkful of carrots.

“Securing one’s own legacy is selfish and potentially  _ fruitless _ if we are killed by our enemies. Our focus shouldn’t be on individual pursuits, but on our obligations to our country.”

His eyebrows furrowed at her from across the table. “Or, perhaps individual pursuits are what  _ make _ a country worth fighting for,” he sniped.

“And how is one going to focus on family when one is  _ meant  _ to focus on winning a war without distraction? Maybe such frivolities are best saved for  _ after. _ ”

“You make it sound like a  _ reward _ when it should be a  _ right _ . If one wants a family, one should not be forced to wait on  _ anything, _ even WAR. And if one fears d _ eath _ , is it not better to leave a legacy behind?”

“You mean leave a WIDOW behind to raise his children alone?” She snapped harshly. “Easy for YOU to say, when a  _ man’s _ contribution to a family can stop at the _ honeymoon _ . A woman is expected to leave all other pursuits behind, foregoing any personal hopes and dreams in order to raise the children of a dead husband!”

Her voice had risen in volume and she saw that ugly snarl on Lorenz’ lips that she had seen before in council when they had fought before. There was a familiar angry heat between them even from across the table that had rendered everything else surrounding them invisible- until Count Gloucester finally cleared his voice, and Ingrid and Lorenz both visibly drained of colour.

“Perhaps it’s better this woman turned you down,” the Count quipped. “She seems too…  _ opinionated. _ ”

Ingrid knew that ‘opinionated’ was the  _ nice _ way of saying it. She’d heard many things like it before- a nag. A shrew. A  _ bitch _ .

“Well, I rather like her,” The Countess admitted with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “She’s  _ fiery. _ It’s rather refreshing. I think I should like to talk to her some more.”

Ingrid didn’t know why that made her cheeks blush, but it did. She stabbed her fork into a potato and took an angry bite while Lorenz turned his head away with an uptight sniff.

She needed to get through this. Because somehow, she and Lorenz needed to be on the same side again when it came to discussing the war with his father.

Ingrid found it in herself to finish her meal- honestly, that part wasn’t hard, it was delicious- until it came to a post-dinner glass of wine in the Count’s study. This was where the real work would begin. She banished all negative thoughts from her head, stopping Lorenz just outside with a light touch on his arm.

He still seemed annoyed as he looked his nose down at her, and she tried her best not to return the favor. “We need to be united,” she said. “Let’s put our arguments aside, and if he tries to bring them up we’ll disregard it. We can’t let him divide us.”

“....Agreed,” Lorenz said, narrowing his eyes. “So  _ do _ try to watch your tone this time.” He flipped his hair and walked into the study with a straight back, confident as always. Ingrid growled in frustration, then finally snorted out a breath, cleared her mind of anger, and walked in behind him.

The three of them took a seat in comfortable chairs around a fireplace. A map of Fodlan was on a table between them, and a servant poured them all a glass of red wine. Ingrid accepted the glass, though she only barely sipped from it- she needed a clear head for this.

_ Also, white wine would have gone better with goose, _ she thought with dark delight, feeling though she had at least the upper hand on one singular thing, trivial though it may be.

“Now then,” Count Gloucester began with a disarming smile. “Do tell me what has become of my bridge.”

Lorenz spoke first, confident and regal. “I unfortunately must confess that Duke Reigan has played a hand against you, Father- and I am complicit,” he admitted. “We needed the bridge. And we could not afford you fighting us. So we staged an attack by the Almayrans to distract you while we defeated the Empire forces that held it.”

The Count’s sharp, terrifying eyes bored into his son, but Lorenz held firm. “And why, exactly, did you feel you need to take the bridge?” He asked. “You know as well as I that we allied with the Empire now. This could be seen as treasonous.”

Ingrid interrupted, stern and unquestionable. “Myrddin has been taken back for the Alliance. This is already done,” she explained. “The Generals Ladislava and Von Aegir are defeated. Judith of Daphnel holds it now. This was Claude’s decision- and we stand by it. As opposers of the Adrestian Empire.”

The glanced only briefly at Lorenz as she mentioned Ferdinand, but he did not flinch, standing firm and unyielding as he picked up where Ingrid left off.

“I cannot follow the Empire, Father,” he said. “And you should not, either. Truly, the only thing that kept you in their grasp was their hold on the bridge, which the Leicester Alliance has reclaimed. There is nothing keeping us now from renouncing Empire allegiance and supporting the Alliance again.”

“Ridiculous,” The Count spat, waving a hand. “The Alliance does nothing but squabble amongst themselves, as orchestrated by that upstart Duke who is barely fit to rule. When the Empire wins this war, I should prefer to be on their  _ good  _ side, and maybe we can retain our lands and titles that way. Or, my son, would you rather be stripped of our nobility and forced to live as commoners?”

The Count was clearly playing on Lorenz’s weaknesses, as Ingrid noticed by the way Lorenz blanched in response. She stepped in here instead.

“The Adrestian Empire will not win,” She announced with confidence. “With the taking of the bridge, we’ve allied with some of the strongest forces of Almyra. Not only this, but I come representing the Kingdom of Fearghus, and can promise the forces of Gautier and Fraldarius at least. The Kingdom has also joined forces with the remaining Knights of Seiros. By our combined power, we are enough to crush the Empire,” she explained calmly.

“The Kingdom is dead,” The Count shot back, his black eyes piercing her soul. “The King is dead, the regent is dead, the prince is dead. Who would follow such a defeated country?”

Ingrid decided not to share her secret knowledge that the King of Fearghus was still alive, in whatever condition, because she did not know what he would do with that information. So she barreled ahead without it. “Regardless of ruler, we still oppose the Empire, and have allied ourselves with the Church and the Leicester Alliance. Together, this force has been enough to defeat forces at Ailell, and reclaim the Bridge, with no signs of stopping as we advance forward. If you truly want to be on the winning side of this war, you would renounce the Empire and restake your claim as a noble of the Alliance, because with the Kingdom and the Church backing them, it’s only a matter of time until Adrestia is defeated.”

“Indeed,” Lorenz quickly agreed. “You wanted me to keep Duke Reigan in check; well I have, and all his decisions so far, with my aide, have been sound. He is working in the best interest of Fodlan, and I agree with his direction. As you have put me in charge of this, Father, I expect you will consider my opinion on it, on this war, and what is best for the people. The Empire is not a cause worth supporting. We have taken back the Bridge of Myrddin for the Alliance- there is nothing holding you now to Adrestia.”

The Count stared back and forth between the two for a long, terrifyingly silent moment. “So,” he finally began, slowly and articulately, “You have made your feelings known. I am glad to hear it.” He took a sip of his wine, swishing it around in the glass. His cold black eyes landed on Ingrid, studying her closely. “You argue well. I can see why he brought you to this council. Or perhaps, was it his affinity for blondes?”

Ingrid froze, feeling her blood boil in anger at the Count’s smarmy smile.

“Do not dismiss my guest in such a manner,” Lorenz snapped. “Lady Galatea has been an incredible asset to the Alliance, and you do her a great disservice.”

“My apologies,” The Count replied airily through smirking lips. “That was quite rude indeed. I beg your forgiveness, My Lady.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Ingrid hissed, gritting her teeth. “Now if we could return to the matter at hand.”

“Quite so.” He took another sip of his wine, and Ingrid finally took a second sip of hers as well, hoping to quell the anger in her bones. “I shall have to make some inquiries. There are people I need to speak to before a proper decision can be made on such a large effort.”

“Naturally,” Lorenz replied. “We shall continue this discussion after you have completed your research on the matter. I'm sure you have much work to do."

"Hmm. Indeed,” The Count replied thoughtfully, staring at Lorenz contemplatively. “Well I suppose I have some letters to write, then. Goodnight, Lorenz. Lady Ingrid.” He nodded to each in turn, and they stood and bowed before exiting the study. Wordlessly, Ingrid followed Lorenz up the stairs, and it was only finally when they arrived at the guest chambers did he turn back to look at her with an indiscernible expression.

“I apologize for my father,” he said. “He was trying to rile you.”

“I know what he was doing,” she bit. “Thank you for taking that one.”

“Of course. We can’t afford to be disarmed by your weaknesses.”

Ingrid scowled, a burning anger igniting her. “And what is THAT supposed to mean?”

“It means what I said,” he snapped in his condescendingly haughty way. “You offend too easily and you are quick to anger. Your intelligence and skill in debate will be valuable in this endeavor, if you can keep your  _ temper _ .”

Ingrid was furious. She wanted to yell at him but that would only prove his point.

“I told you when you invited me,” she hissed, “that we don’t always get along, and that I don’t intend to change my personality. And you said it was fine.”

“Then I suppose my expectations of you were too high. I did not expect you to argue with me at dinner in front of both of my parents.”

“You STARTED that argument!”

“Enough of this.” His lips curled into that familiar angry snarl as he waved his hand to cut her off. Ingrid clenched her teeth. He only quit because he knew she was RIGHT.

Lorenz sighed, heavily and dramatically, seeming to exhale out some of his anger. “It has been a…. Long couple of days. The battle yesterday….”

He trailed off. Ingrid suddenly remembered the impromptu funeral from the previous night and felt a twinge of guilt.

“Yes,” She agreed, calming. “You’re right. Lets just…. Rest.”

“Indeed. Goodnight, Ingrid.” Lorenz bowed a little stiffly, turning away. Ingrid opened the door to the guest room, hoping to find her own clothes clean on the bed but was stopped only a foot into the doorway.

“Oh, and Ingrid-”

She turned back, seeing Lorenz had stopped to look over his shoulder at her.

“That dress looks lovely on you.”

She was glad when he turned away right after so he couldn’t see how red her face had turned.


End file.
